Anyone for tennis?

Hello my friends, fans and lovers. I am back again. Not to pillory Sage (as some have said) but to state certain truths in regard to the man Macorkadale and his attitude towards me. He can be too personal at times… I mean the fact that my bats wing is withered and bears no resemblance to me and my wonderful age less persona is one thing. You may well ask or think that it is a miracle that I look so very young for my age. Perhaps some of you, who are familiar with my original memoirs, will have thought that the reason for my fresh youthful appearance is because of the genius Otis Van Strapon. Maybe you think that he at some point in our life and times had invented an elixir of some description, some sort of life preservative as it were. Well nothing of that nature could be further from the truth. The fact is, it is magic. Yes, not potions but metaphysical magic. Something that was touched upon by my good friend Oscar Wild in his master piece ‘A Picture of Dorian Grey’. Yes in those far flung days of yore I gave Oscar many an idea for his writings. As indeed I have given the poet and cricketing sensitive Derek Pringle ideas for his meaningful William Blake-esque attacks on our society at large. Sorry my dear friends I was sidetracked by the thought of the wonderful Pringle and images of his poetic sensibilities.

So all I can say is back to my bats wing. Yes, some of you may have guessed by now that Dorian Grey was myself. No, it wasn’t the picture that aged… That of course was poetic license as it were. Truth is, Oscar and I could not upset Victorian society with talk of my ever aging bats wing. It would not have gone down very well in the parochial publishing arenas of the day, nor the palace. To say that my stretched ball bag was aging while I was not would have been a bridge too far for Oscar in the long run. For he had enough to worry about what with the 8th Marques of Queensberry’s son and their limp wristed activities. Although I must say that Oscar was happy to tug on it (my battered bats wing that is) on cold winter evenings from time to time. This would help with the circulation… So you get the picture my friends and yes… There will be more on this fascinating time and place at a later date.

Sorry, I got lost in a long lost past there my friends. Now I feel I must make reference to Sage and his dubious attitude to the new “old show” currently playing in the West End of London. The thing that brought this on was my loose reference to Sage’s weight, the inference being that he had put it on. Yes he was starting to look like a fatty and I told him this. I said ‘you’re looking fat Sage. Are you carrying twins?’ This seemed to upset him no end on a deep psychological level. It doubtless sent him hurtling back to his school days when he was probably buggerd for being a fatty by the older boys. But the truth hurts I say. Then Sage came out with some guff about understudying Michael Ball in the new production of Hairspray and that being fat was essential to the part. I mean, if you believe Sage on that one then I am a stoned Dutchman with German tendencies, killing artists for blasphemy!

The truth is Sage has been mixing with the decadent scoundrel that is Tiger Tim Henman, the Great British icon of defeat, who since leaving tennis has taken to dressing up in Billy Jean King’s tennis skirt. He has taken to waving his little racket around like an old fashioned tic tac man at the races. This all happens on his night time trips to Henman Hill to reminisce about the almost glory days of never. Now, where does Sage fit in to this seemingly ridiculous scenario you may ask. You’ve guessed it… It’s the dressing up in women clothing. Yes, not a bad thing in itself. But to get involved with the deviant that is Henman and his anal loosening bottle of poppers… Well the man Henman is evil. I mean children sit on that hill! I wasn’t going to say this but it must be put into the public domain.

So you my fans can see these people for what they really are. What? You can’t believe this of Sage and Henman I hear you say? Well my friends, I have the assimilatory photograph of Sage in Virginia Wades winning Wimbledon attire! Yes indeed he’s on Henman Hill lifting up that little skirt and showing his little fat buttock cheeks while Tiger Tim waved his tiny racket around in frenzied almost uncontrollable fashion! A picture worth its weight in gold if you follow me. And I don’t mean Terry Weight… I’ve seen his bottom and I’ve sampled his unnatural gas excesses. The man Weight is a distortion and a danger to the ice caps… His methane dispersements were shocking.